


Vulcans Can't Lie

by Kien Rugastelo (cein)



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-11 20:14:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13531722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cein/pseuds/Kien%20Rugastelo
Summary: CW: brief mention of an eating disorder"Spock, McCoy had decided, was a terrible liar."Three return from an Away Mission. Two have to go to Sick Bay. One doesn't need to know about it.Or: McCoy realizes the way he and Spock know how to be considerate are different and yet very much the same.





	Vulcans Can't Lie

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in one go without a beta-reader, so enjoy!
> 
> Also, my space bar is malfunctioning, so if you notice missing spaces, please let me know so I can fix it.
> 
> Set early in Season One.

Spock, McCoy had decided, was a terrible liar. He’d never bought into the Vulcans-can’t-lie myth—and what kind of nonsense was that, anyway, trying to say that an intelligent species wasn’t capable of twisting the truth—but witnessing the scene on the Bridge had McCoy changing his mind. It wasn’t that Vulcans were incapable of creating a falsehood, he observed as he held the PADD to his chest, deliberately avoiding putting pressure on his dominant wrist. It was more like Vulcans were positively inept at coming up with a convincing lie.

Spock had been attempting to lie ever since they had gotten back ship-side, and Kirk had been suspicious, but far too over-trusting. Still, Kirk asked one more time: “And you’re sure you’re fit to work”

“I am—” and Spock hesitated, McCoy noticed with a frown, for a moment while Spock likely forgot half his vocabulary and tried to pass it off as searching for the most perfect, fitting term “—adequate.”

Spock was a terrible liar, swaying there exhausted on the Bridge, and Kirk was as gullible as a rock was immobile when it came to the people close to him. Kirk could lie to save a life, and he could spot a lie to save one, but god forbid someone asked Kirk to spot even the most glaring of lies outside either of those two circumstances. “Alright, back to your station, then,” Kirk said with a smile, and McCoy had _had it_.

In an excellent display in his own ability to lie about anything and everything—skills granted him by his medical field poker-face, the improvisational skills developed for his daughter, and the years of practice in a marriage that should have ended years before it actually did—McCoy did not (visibly) lose his temper. “Jim, if you don’t mind, I’d like to borrow Spock down in the lab. I’ll be needing his science notes on the planet to complete my medical report.”

“Of course, Bones,” Kirk acquiesced easily. “Take all the time you need.”

Spock nodded an acknowledgment, then made his way toward the turbolift, leaning into the motion just so, as if he would be knocked over by his own momentum. McCoy crossed his left arm over his right in a protective movement, covering it by looking impatient for Spock to join him. Naturally, then, when the doors closed, it was Spock who grabbed the controls and said with an authoritative air: “Deck 2.”

“Belay that,” McCoy corrected, “Sickbay.” The computer accepted the countermand when further correction did not come, and it began to drop the pair of them towards Deck 7. McCoy did not miss that Spock’s balance was wholly dependent on his grip on the turbolift controls. “Adequate, my ass,” McCoy muttered.

Spock frowned, but did not grant McCoy’s remark the dignity of a glance. “I am well enough to complete my duties.”

“You’re barely upright,” McCoy observed as the lift began to slow, but he wasn’t here to fight Spock, not really. “But seeing as Jim will be expecting you back—” he griped through his teeth as they exited the lift, as if not confining Spock to Sickbay was an affront to his plans “—I may as well give you a quick check-up and a stimulant if your body can handle it, then send you on your way.”

Spock’s attention drifted away from staying on two feet long enough to read something from McCoy. McCoy wasn’t sure what it was, but something in Spock seemed to relax for once—just a bit—as they entered Sickbay. “You did not alert the Captain to my—” a pause, this time seeking the correct euphemism “—condition.”

“It might not have been regulation,” he admitted gruffly, awkwardly shuffling the PADD to the counter without making use of his right hand, rummaging around for the medical tricorder he programmed, “But you’re a proud man Mr. Spock, and it’s better for morale if I don’t broadcast the fact that you’re not indestructible to the crew. Now where the hell is that—”

“Perhaps,” Spock interjected smoothly, “We should prioritize the repair of the tissues in your hand, so that you may perform at your most efficient.”

McCoy huffed at that, but Spock—ever logical—was right, and possibly trying to be considerate in his own way. Yanking Kirk back up on that ledge had been a bit more than McCoy’s body had been prepared to handle, and he had the sprain to prove it. “Yeah, alright.”

It took a bit of searching, and even less instruction (Spock was nothing if not adept), before McCoy was talking Spock through the treatment of simple sprains and strains. It was quick and efficient, everything McCoy had come to expect of Spock in the couple months they’d served together. McCoy doubted that Spock had actually needed the play-by-play, and perhaps was trying to preserve McCoy’s dignity as the CMO by letting himself be instructed much in the same way McCoy had been trying to preserve Spock’s dignity as XO by discretely dragging him down to medical instead of letting him eventually collapse on the Bridge through pure stubbornness.

The thought had McCoy idly testing the movement and function of his wrist, rubbing at it absently while Spock sterilized and replaced the regenerator in silence. “Listen, Spock,” McCoy said, “I won’t tell Jim you nearly fainted on the Bridge if you don’t tell him I got hurt pulling him back up that cliff.”

McCoy could have sworn he saw one of Spock’s ears twitch at the mere thought of bypassing regulations. “It is against protocol to conceal injuries that occurred on away missions.”

“I’m well aware of that, Mr. Spock,” McCoy was not able to keep his voice from going a bit cool, “But I have a hard enough time keeping the Captain’s weight yo-yoing in a healthy range without him thinking he managed to hurt his CMO with his weight.” Spock didn’t know about Tarses yet (probably), and he did not know about how much a situation like that could damage a person’s relationship with food—not really—, and McCoy was not about to go snitching.

Spock, for his part, took a moment to consider the idea. “It would be illogical to cause the Captain undue concern, considering the circumstances.”

McCoy chuckled as he tapped the stimulant hypospray against the meat of his hand. Perhaps, someday, they could be friends. “Mr. Spock, I’ll make a liar out of you, yet!”


End file.
